


A Thousand Sleeps

by Piccolo_is_green



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragonball Z
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Divergent fic, F/M, Romance, Three years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1953312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piccolo_is_green/pseuds/Piccolo_is_green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly one thousand nights before the predicted arrival of the Androids, Bulma wonders if there is more she can do to stop the impending apocalypse. As the days count down, she devises a plan that will change the course of the future forever... AU/divergent fic set in the missing 3 years. Bulma/Vegeta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.
> 
> A/N: When I began writing I thought I'd be entering this into the We're Just Saiyan community's Disney Challenge, which was due sometime back in May 2013. Instead I kept adding to this thing, and it became a multi-chapter fic rather than a one-shot.
> 
> This is an AU or 'divergent' version of the whole 'three year' Bulma/Vegeta get together. Basically it begins at the same point as most other 3 year stories, but as for the end... well, you'll have to wait to find out :)
> 
> Most of the story is already written, but I'm adding bits and pieces to it, with the final chapters needing the most work. My current estimate is that it will sit at around 20,000 words when complete. 'Sleeping Beauty' is the prompt that got me started with this. However, this story is nothing like Disney, and is very much set in the DBZ world.
> 
> To make it clear to everyone, the number above each section of this story is the number of days before May 12th 767 – the date Mirai Trunks predicted the Androids would appear.
> 
> This story is rated M for sexual content and violence, though there isn't more than the odd curse word in this first chapter.

 

**A THOUSAND SLEEPS**

**Part One**

_**1000** _

Her finger slides across the foggy mirror, and in the lines that she traces her blue eyes stare back at her. Bulma stands there, naked, and cannot ignore the fear present on her face.

Part of her wishes the boy from the future had never come, though she knows his visit may have just changed the Earth's fate. But she's already counting down the days until the Androids appear, and it's driving her mad.

_1000._  The number in the glass is beginning to fade, the fog from her shower curling through the air to settle on the mirror. It doesn't make any difference; the number is still imprinted in her mind.

A thousand sleeps. It's August 15th, 764. There are exactly one thousand nights until the Androids arrive.

Her fingers swipe across the cool glass, blurring the number entirely. She glares back at her reflection, wondering if there is more she can do to change the future.

_**975** _

In the dead of night she wakes with a start, her heart racing in the aftermath of her dream. There's an all too familiar ache between her legs, and she pulls back the sheets, feeling sticky and unsatisfied. She lies there blinking into the darkness as her body cools down, listening to her pulse slow. The bed shifts under her as Yamcha rolls over in his sleep, pulling the blankets with him.

She looks at him, doing her best to make out his features in the dark. He's big and long and sleek and beautiful, and she loves him.

_But_  –

She can't help but feel that there's something missing in this relationship. Yamcha's not thereckless bad boy she found living in the desert all those years ago, and she's not the carefree teenager she used to be, either.

How greedy she is. She has all the money in the world, and it isn't enough. She wants more; more fame, more fortune, more adventure. She wants love and sex and  _passion_.

She wants to live beyond the three year deadline they've all been given.

Sleep is too far away to reach now. She climbs out of bed slowly, careful not to wake the man beside her, and slips a robe over her shoulders.

"Nng… babe?" She pauses at the door. In the dark it looks as if Yamcha's face is floating amongst blankets and pillows. "Where you going?" he asks, his voice groggy.

"Just getting a drink." It's a lie, and she slips out, heading through the darkened halls to her lab instead. She finds the radar where she last left it, locked away in one of her desk draws. She switches it on and a familiar yellow dot appears in the screen, displaying the location of the nearest dragonball, only a hundred miles from here. She pulls up the location on her computer – it's hidden somewhere within a rural area – and she screws her nose up at the idea of walking through paddocks filled with  _sheep_  and  _cows_ and their resulting dung.

Regardless of her distaste for the farming life, she blocks out next Thursday in her calendar, writing 'Meeting – Mr D. B.' just in case anyone asks.

She heads back to bed. Yamcha's skin is blazing under the sheets, and she cuddles close to him. Endless thoughts continue to race through her mind, and despite the comforting warmth beside her, she can't sleep.

_**969** _

She finds the four star ball in the midst of an abandoned orchard, and spends the afternoon laying about under a tree, gorging herself on wild plums and cherries. She's not usually the outdoorsy type, but this place is idyllic, and she enjoys the fresh air and birdsong around her. It is a relief after the tense atmosphere at home; there's been far too much posturing between Yamcha and Vegeta lately.

The dragonball sits in her lap, glowing softly. It's warm to the touch, and she caresses it fondly, reliving the memories of her childhood, back when her group of warrior friends actually included her in their plans. She can't help but be a little bit bitter about this; they all seem to talk about Namek as if she wasn't there. Hell;  _she's_  the one that got them there in the first place!  _And_  she managed to survive the whole time, unlike some.

It bothers her, the way the boys seem to leave her out, as if they've forgotten that it was all her doing that brought them together in the first place. It's this thought that spurs her on, that fuels her desire to do something active about the Android threat. Collecting the dragonballs is only the first step in her plan, and she won't let Son-kun or anyone else deter her.

Yes, she's determined to do it  _her way_  this time. Let those boys see how smart and brave and capable she is, and a hot beauty to boot! She grins, closing her eyes and leaning back against the tree trunk behind her. It's relaxing here, listening to the sounds of nature around her. It reminds her of her old adventures with Son-kun…

She wakes with a start, glancing around apprehensively until she recalls what she's doing in the middle of the back country. The sun has disappeared behind dark clouds, and the orchard she sits in no longer looks warm and welcoming. In fact the place seems downright creepy.

The dragonball feels cold in her hands, and a chill runs down her spine. It's foolish, but she's suddenly overwhelmed by the ominous feeling that something bad is lurking on the horizon. Not one to hang around waiting for trouble, she quickly scrambles to her feet.

She shoves the icy dragonball in her backpack and slings the bag over her shoulder as the heavens open above, and by the time she's pulled her plane capsule out of her pocket she's already drenched. She wastes no time in getting into her plane and taking off, her small aircraft buffeted by heavy winds and pounding rain. She feels as if someone's watching her, and looks over her shoulder, though there's nothing there but the back of the small plane. It's ridiculous, and yet she can't shake the strange feeling. It follows her, along with the storm, all the way back to Capsule Corporation.

She runs across the lawn, pelted by the heavy rain. Once inside she heads straight for the kitchen, but freezes in the doorway. Vegeta's there, shirtless as usual and coated in a fine sheen of sweat, rummaging through the refrigerator. Though his muscled back, littered with old scars, is not an unpleasant sight, she pauses for a moment, considering whether dealing with Vegeta is worth a double shot latte.

In the end the latte wins out, and she sighs, resolutely ignoring the alien as she enters the room and begins programming the coffee machine. She drops her backpack on the floor at her feet, and imagines what she would say if Vegeta saw what she had hidden inside. But he ignores her presence, and the only sound in the room is the gurgle of the coffee maker.

She sips her drink at the counter, watching raindrops slide down the window. At some point she becomes aware of eyes on her; irritated, she frowns and turns to face Vegeta's stare.

"What?!" she snaps.

His eyes are cold, curious, calculating. He snorts suddenly, one eye twitching slightly. "You look like shit."

She knows it's true – the rain has left her hair a bedraggled mess, and her damp shirt clings to her skin. Her mascara's probably running, too. Still, she sniffs with offense, and tucks her damp curls behind her ear.

"Look who's talking," she replies, giving him the stink-eye. She picks up her bag and walks past him without another word.

_**901** _

She knows Vegeta's injuries are bad when she finds him sitting on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. She stands in the doorway to the lounge, watching him stare at nothing, until he turns his head and snaps " _What!_ " so viciously that she actually jumps.

She frowns, crossing her arms over her chest to hide the fact that he startled her, and glares at him. "Jeez, you're such a grumpy butt!" she complains, moving angrily across the room. She settles on the couch opposite him and picks up the remote, throwing this purposefully at his head.

Unfortunately, his reflexes are too good, and he catches this with ease. "Turn it on," she tells him, nodding at the TV. When he gives her a blank stare, she adds "The green button."

The TV screen flashes to life, bringing up an old rom-com. She rolls her eyes; she is not in the mood for mushy romance stories, having just caught Yamcha checking out other women's asses while out with him. "Turn it to channel 61," she tells Vegeta. "It's a sports channel. Boxing is on tonight." She's not  _that_  into sport, but she's seen enough martial arts tournaments to be vaguely interested, and for some odd reason she finds herself considering programmes that might actually interest Vegeta.

The channel doesn't change, and she peels her eyes away from the screen to find the Saiyan staring at the remote, a disgusted look on his face. "Channel 61," she repeats over the background noise of cheesy romance humour.

She receives a bone-chilling glare in response. He rises from the couch, and she doesn't miss the stiffness in his movements as he walks away, nor the shape of bandages underneath his t-shirt. He's hurt his ribs, then.

His reaction surprises her. Shaking her head in confusion – she'll never understand the man – she moves to the spot that Vegeta vacated, and picks up the remote. The chair is comfortably warm, and she tucks her legs under herself, settling down for a night of channel-surfing.

She wakes hours later, with a cramped back and drool running down her chin. She wipes at this with disgust, and picks up the remote from the carpet, where it must have fallen while she slept. Glancing down at the numbers on the controller, it suddenly occurs to her that Vegeta is an  _alien_ , and would have never come across Earth's alphabet and numeral system before.

"Of course," she mutters to herself, feeling like an idiot for not realizing sooner. She rises to her feet, processing this newfound knowledge as she heads for the kitchen.

_**900** _

The woman's scent is fresh as he steps into the bedroom, and he snarls, angered that she'd dare to set foot in his space. His eyes fall upon the single sheet of paper placed on the foot of his bed, and he stalks across the room, snatching at the offending object.

He studies the sheet, brown drawn tight in a scowl as momentary confusion gives way to understanding. It's a key; a translation of numerals from Standard into what he assumes is the Earth equivalent. The Standard numerals – zero to one hundred – line the page in a single column, the Earthling translations written by hand beside them.

" _Tch!_ " He crushes the paper in his hands and throws it into the small waste receptacle in the corner of his room. He has no desire to learn anything about this mud-ball planet, and he certainly doesn't want any help from the woman.

He stalks into the bathroom, fuming over the woman's damn  _perceptiveness_.

.

He wakes in the early hours of dawn and stretches, feeling the familiar ache in his muscles. His eyes land on the waste receptacle, an open box made of metal mesh, and the ball of scrunched paper that sits inside.

It takes a miniscule amount of ki to lift the paper. It floats towards him, and he catches it with one hand, carefully unfolding this. He doesn't know how the woman managed to figure out Standard, but she obviously has. He spends the next hour memorizing the numerals before him, committing them all to memory.

_**882** _

Her heart jumps somewhere in her throat as she runs out the door and catches sight of the spaceship, upended in smoking ruins on the lawn.

_Vegeta! No!_

Her legs are moving before she has any more time to think, and she's racing across the lawn, adrenaline coursing through her as she sprints for the wreckage. All she can think of is the man trapped under it all –  _Kami, how can he still be alive?_

She stops before the rubble, sinking to her knees, eyes dancing to and fro as she searches for any sign of him. Yamcha's behind her, babbling something, but she doesn't pay him any attention.

"Where is he?  _Vegeta?_ "

It dawns on her, with sudden clarity, that she couldn't bear it if he were dead.

_**862** _

From her bedroom balcony she surveys the new spaceship. It sits in the same place as the last one, the grass surrounding it only just beginning to grow back after the explosion. Her father had almost completed the second ship when the first blew up, and had been quick to finish it while Vegeta lay broken in the infirmary.

She rolls her eyes as she thinks of the alien man. He's a fool, as stubborn as a mule, hell-bent on getting stronger than Goku. She can appreciate his determination, but his arrogance pisses her off. He often makes her want to slap him in the face, but she knows all she'll get from that is a broken hand. She's learnt from years around Goku that Saiyans are built like concrete.

As the sun sets Vegeta emerges from the new ship. He's shirtless, and his bronze skin catches the remaining sunlight. She bites her bottom lip as she watches him cross the yard in that swift walk that reminds her of a cat on the prowl.

She becomes aware of a presence behind her, and turns with a start. Yamcha stares at her, his face set in an unhappy frown.

"How long have you been here?" she asks, her voice a little too hard.

"Long enough," he answers, and she doesn't miss the accusation in his voice, nor the hurt in his eyes.

She pushes away the guilt, stepping around him and back into her bedroom. "You should have said something," she says, grabbing for her purse. "I've been waiting for you for half an hour!" She slips on her heels and doesn't turn around until she's outside her bedroom door. "Well come on! We're going to be late for our reservation!" She storms down the hall, leaving Yamcha to trail behind her.

 

 


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.
> 
> A/N: Warning – coarse language and mature content (of a sexual nature) ahead.

**A THOUSAND SLEEPS**

**Part Two**

_**814** _

She glares up at Vegeta from the seat at her desk, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She wishes that she'd stood up the moment he set foot in her lab – instead she's now on the back foot, peering up at him as he stands over her.

"Do it." His brows are turned down in that perpetual frown, and in the harsh light of the lab his face looks severe, all hard angles and barely-restrained fury.

"What makes you think I have all of this time on my hands, Vegeta? I've got a company to help run and prototypes to develop. I don't have time to fix bots that should never have been broken in the first place."

"If you made them adequately the first time they wouldn't have bro – "

"If  _you_  exercised more restraint," she cuts in before he can finish, "then they wouldn't be broken. They're metal. There not made to withstand blasts from crazy  _aliens_  like you. There aren't any materials on this planet that could! But hey, here's a bright idea,  _maybe_  if you stop blowing them up they will actually continue to work."

He glares down at her, his lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure. He too has his arms crossed over that bare chest. She can't deny that he's a hunk, all rock hard abs and bulging muscle, sweat and plenty of testosterone. His proximity to her is more than a little unnerving.

"Fix them."

"Ugh! Fine," she hisses, just to get him out of her hair. He snorts and turns to leave, but something stops him.

He's staring down at the broken scouter that sits on her desk, the one she took from Raditz body. For the briefest moment he looks forlorn, lost, and her heart twists as she once again remembers that he is the last of his kind, and that for all of his monstrosities, he is the man who cried over the loss of his people, over the loss of himself. This Saiyan Prince is the same man who swept away his pride and begged Goku to avenge the death of his people.

"The glass shattered when you fought Goku," she explains. He jerks, jolted out of his reverie, and shoots her a dirty glare.

She watches his back as he storms out of her lab, and pities the Saiyan Prince.

_**777** _

The bed shifts underneath her –  _again_  – and, losing her patience, she rolls onto her side and props herself up on one elbow. "What is wrong with you?" she asks, squinting at the lumpy dark form that is Yamcha in the dark. "You're squirming around like crazy. I'm trying to sleep!"

"Sorry. I'll stop." He sounds dejected, forlorn, and she sighs, flopping back down on the bed.

"No, s'okay," she sighs, rolling towards him. With his back facing her, it's easy to curl around his larger frame, and she buries her nose in the old shirt he's wearing, breathing in the familiar scent. His hand reaches back to pat her thigh, and she kisses his back, her movements gentle.

"What's wrong?"

He's silent, and she can tell he's holding his breath. He lets it all out in one big sigh and shifts again, rolling towards her. Her head lifts automatically as his arm slips under her neck, until she's safely cocooned in his arms. "The Androids," he whispers. "It's just shit, knowing what's coming."

"It's better than not knowing."

"I don't know," he replies, and she can hear the uncertainty in his voice. "Goku... Goku and Vegeta have a chance, but me..."

"You'll be fine." She squeezes him, pressing herself hard against him, whispering against his neck. "You'll be fine. We'll be fine." She opens her mouth and finds that she's on the brink of telling him the truth, so sorely tempted to tell him about the two dragonballs hidden in her lab. But the moment passes, and Yamcha's hand is sliding under her nightgown, over the curve of her ass, calloused fingers brushing the small of her back.

His lips crush against hers, stifling moans, and they roll together, him on top of her. Pants slip down and panties are tugged off her hips, fingers and toes pushing and pulling at garments until he slides between her open legs with a hiss. She digs her nails into his backside, arching towards him, until he fills her completely. They move slowly in a familiar rhythm, his breath panting in her ear.

"I don't wanna lose you, B," he whispers against her neck. "I don't wanna –"

"You won't!" she whispers back, silencing him with her lips. He kisses back with a fierce passion, a desperate need. He's a desperate man, a man who's seen death before. Kami, they're all desperate.

_**745** _

She follows the fresh bloodstains on the floor. They lead to the infirmary, where she finds Vegeta wrapping his wound, a 3-inch gash on his bicep. "How the hell...?" she asks, wondering what on Earth he's been doing to cause such a wound.

He resolutely ignores her and continues to bandage himself, the perpetual frown still plastered on his face. Only when he's done does he look up, treating her to a wonderfully unpleasant sneer.

She moves, blocking the doorway at the same time as he says "Get out of my way." She holds her head high against the full force of his glare, and prides herself on the fact that she doesn't even flinch when an angry growl rips out from between bared teeth.

"Move, Woman," he snarls.

"You should take a break," she protests, hands on hips. "You're going to kill yourself before the Androids even arrive. Just take a day off and let your body recuperate."

"Move."

"Take a day off." She doesn't know why she's so insistent. It's crazy, really, and the rational part of her brain reminds her that he's a homicidal maniac. The irrational side of her, however, notes the way the muscle in his jaw jumps in irritation, and the way his body – a perfect sculpture of bronze muscle, clad in a pair of spandex shorts and nothing else – tenses every time she opens her mouth. She pisses him off – she can see the burning anger in his eyes – and she gets a real kick out of it.

Breath hitches in her throat as she blinks and finds him standing mere inches from her. Damn his inhuman speed, it scares the shit out of her, and she watches as his nostrils flare minutely, almost as if he's smelling fear. He smirks, the corner of his mouth turning up in a devilish half-smile, and the only words that cross her mind are  _cocky bastard_.

"Move, Woman." His voice is quiet now, but no less demanding. Her hands grip the doorframe on either side, and though she knows it's a losing battle, her pride won't let her surrender. She stares at him, taking in the solid wall of muscle, the dark eyes, and the flame of hair that gives the impression that he actually has a height advantage over her. This close, she can make out his dilated pupils against the backdrop of his black irises, and it reminds her all over again that him and Son-kun are the same, that they are aliens, that they are so different and yet so similar to each other, to her, to all humankind.

"Make me," she utters. Kami, it's like a scene out of one of the cheesy movies she loves to hate, but she stands tall, meeting his gaze, suddenly so oddly determined not to let him pass. He snorts, and for a moment she sees something dance in his midnight eyes.

His lips – did they always look that good? – part as he chuckles, a soft, rough sound that seems to wrap around her and squeeze, so that her breath comes fast and her pulse races. "Very well," he says, white teeth glinting as he flashes her another open-mouthed smirk.

"Wha –  _aaahh!_ " she screeches as she's tossed unceremoniously over his shoulder. "Put me down!  _PUT ME DOWN!_ " she cries as he carries her roughly down the hall, his fingers digging painfully into the back of her thigh. "You fucking  _bastard!_ " she hisses, the blood rushing to her head as she swings upside down, getting a much closer view of his ass than she'd ever imagined. The redness on her face only increases as she feels a rush of cold air against her backside and realises just how far her mini dress has ridden up. "Vegeta! Put me down  _NOW!_ " she bellows, her head pounding.

The air, the room, the world rushes around her, and she lands with a shriek into something soft. She blinks, her heart racing, and looks up from her place on the couch at Vegeta. He stares down at her, his expression somewhere between amused and unimpressed, and she blushes even more, tugging her skirt further down her thighs. "You...  _dick!_ "

He laughs outright at this, throwing his head back and practically barking. "I did warn you," he grins, sauntering away as if he owns the place. She glares after him, until he's disappeared around the corner. Only then does she relax back in the chair.

One hand placed firm over her pounding heart, she lays there, thinking thoughts about Vegeta and his blazing skin and rock hard abs that make her feel all the more guilty.

_**736** _

Yamcha's silent anger has her on edge, partly because she's never seen him this furious before. She watches him as he digs through the rubble of the second ship to have blown up on her lawn, noting his jerky movements and furious scowl. He catches her staring, and she turns away, busying herself with sorting out the pieces Yamcha's found. Anything salvageable is handed to the cleaning bots to be taken to her father's basement lab. Everything else will be going into a skip bin.

She takes a small part from Yamcha's hand, and offers him a placating smile. "Thanks for helping. It'd take a lot longer to sort through without a strong guy like you here."

"Are you going to build him another ship?" His stare is direct, mouth turned down in a disapproving frown.

" _I'm_ not," she scoffs. "But Dad's already working on it as we speak."

"So you're just going to let him continue to blow your shit up." It's a statement, not a question, and Yamcha turns his back to her again, picking up another piece of twisted metal sheeting and throwing it to the side with too much force. The sound it makes as it lands on the ground is awful.

"Hey!" she yells. "Be careful! You almost hit mom's roses!"

Yamcha pauses mid swing, another hunk of metal in his arms. He drops this unceremoniously at his feet, shooting her a dirty glare. "You know what?  _You_  should be careful."

"What?!"

"I've seen the way you look at Vegeta."

The statement is enough to both chill her bones and rile her up, and the little knot that's been sitting in her stomach all day suddenly feels huge. " _What?!_ " she repeats, letting the parts in her hands fall to the ground.

"Seriously Bulma, he's a homicidal maniac, and you just invite him here to stay? And then you pander to his every need? How many millions do these ships cost, anyway? You could feed all the fucking homeless in the world with all the money you're pouring into him!"

"He's a  _Saiyan!_ " she screams back, feeling defensive because he's hit a nerve. "He's the best chance we have of surviving the Androids, you idiot! Goku's meant to die in another year or two, and  _we_ don't know if that heart medicine will work! Vegeta might be our only hope at saving the world! There'll be no fucking homeless to feed if the Androids kill everyone off!"

She pauses, her chest heaving, her throat feeling hoarse. She doesn't mention that she has another plan to avoid worldwide destruction at the hands of the Androids – that would mean that she  _doesn't_  have an excuse for providing Vegeta with everything. Instead she chooses to fight on, because she can't stand to lose an argument.

"Don't get all pissy with me,  _Yamcha_. Even  _if_  I was looking at Vegeta, you have no right to say anything about it! I see the way you look at other women!"

"Oh come on B –"

"No, don't  _'Oh, come on'_  me! You're just all for the double standards, huh? You can look at a pair of tits here and there, but I take one look at a shirtless guy and suddenly you're all suspicious? Grow some fucking balls!"

"Hey!"

"Besides, we need Vegeta! He and Goku are the only ones who have any chance in this fight anyway! I don't even know why you bother training!"

She knows instantly that she's gone too far. Not only has she stabbed him with her words, she's twisted the fucking knife, playing on his insecurities, and she feels terrible for it. "Yamcha," she says, her tone suddenly soft and apologetic, but it's too late. He stares at her with such a pained look on his face that she knows she's really burned him this time.

"You're such a bitch, Bulma."

The words sting, but this time she swallows her tongue. Yamcha turns away from her and grabs his jacket, left discarded over by the outdoor furniture. She watches him without another word, all the while wondering whether to apologise. In the end, her pride wins out. He called her a bitch, and she won't say sorry after that.

He doesn't look back as he flies off. She doesn't call out to him, doesn't tell him that she loves him. She's already decided that she'll wait for him to call, as she usually does after these spats.

Perhaps she is a bitch.

She stares at the rubble around her, feeling overwhelmed and exhausted, and sighs, shaking her head.

She doesn't know how long it will take to make sense of all of this.

_**729** _

She steps into the small infirmary and closes the door softly behind her. Vegeta's asleep again, pumped full of drugs to keep him resting until the worst of his injuries are healed. The breathing mask that was so vital yesterday has now been removed, the only sign that he's made some improvements.

She stares at him from across the room, and considers how wrong it is to be here, watching him while he's so vulnerable. He certainly wouldn't appreciate her presence.

But she worries about him. And she knows that she's one of the only people in the universe that is actually concerned about his crazy ass.

She wonders what will happen after the Androids, if he survives. It's just another worry that ticks away in her mind. Will he try and fight Goku? Will he follow through on all of his threats? Sometimes –  _most times_  – she has to remind herself of what he's done, and who he is. He's isn't just a man without a home or a real purpose. He's a cold blooded killing machine, and it hasn't been that long since his last offence.

He groans in his sleep, and she at his side in an instant, smoothing a hand over his bandaged forehead. His brows furrow as his eyes crack open to look up at her in a cloudy stare. "It's okay," she tells him quietly, her hand brushing through his thick hair. "Shh, it's okay. Go back to sleep."

She knows he isn't really awake, and yet he seems to take comfort in her words. His eyes drift close, dark lashes settling against his cheeks, and his head rolls to the side until his nose brushes her wrist and his breath feathers over her arm.

She pulls her hand away and stares at him. She knows it to be true, and yet she cannot comprehend the fact that he was born on another planet, that he is an  _alien_. He looks different, yes, but it's an exotic look, a handsome look. In this moment he's just a man with a tragic past.

On impulse she leans down until her face hovers just over his. His eyes remain closed as she closes the gap, gently pressing her lips to his closed mouth. Everything is more than she expected – he smells better, his lips are softer. Injured as he is, he hasn't been able to shave for over a week, and his stubble scratches her lips as she pulls away.

She moves away quickly, careful to close the door silently behind her. She leans against the wall, fingers brushing over her mouth as she considers the many lines she just crossed.

.

He wakes in the night, and for a moment he cannot place himself. He hears the faint noise of traffic in the distance; sounds he recognizes even though the names for these elude him. His eyes search the room and his sense of danger dissipates. Suddenly he knows where he is. He is on Earth. He is safe.

He ponders this thought for a moment. It is disturbing, and only partially true. Kakarot is the only being strong enough to defeat him on this planet, and he is too much of a soft weakling to ever pose any real threat. But there is always danger; the upcoming battle with the Androids is proof of this.

Yes, the idea that the world around him is  _safe_  is disturbing, a dangerous lie. He won't ever be fooled into complacency.

He sits up and looks at the room around him. He's in the infirmary, and as he pulls the various tubes from his veins he contemplates how he got here. He has only faint memories of training, of intense heat engulfing him, and of the woman calling his name.

The woman. Her scent is strong, fresh in this room. He brings a hand to his face and growls, angered to find a week's worth of stubble there. The lines between his brows deepen as he rubs his calloused fingers across his lips, recalling what must have been a fever-dream. The woman's lips had been soft and supple, her breath warm as it feathered over his face. She'd kissed him as he lay sleeping.

He sneers as his body betrays him, stirring to life over the remnants of this ridiculous dream. As if he ever  _would_ …

He snorts and pushes himself off the bed, the taste of a ghost woman on his tongue.

_**719** _

She hasn't heard from Yamcha since the day he flew off. It's a relief, in a way, though every time her cell rings her heart skips a beat. She's not afraid of speaking to him – it's what she'll say when she does see him that scares her.

Vegeta, on the other hand, seems to be a constant presence, despite his propensity to hole himself up in the new ship. The empty refrigerator in the morning is a daily reminder that he wakes early to train. The blood stains on the carpet are testament to his hard work. He is a machine, and like her mother, she finds herself appreciating this.

These thoughts are dangerous, and she knows it. It's why she's escaping for a few days, for once happy to attend a business meeting scheduled in the distant South City.

She catches a glimpse of Vegeta crossing the lawn as she heads out the door. She turns away from him and throws her capsule out ahead of her, her sleek new plane appearing in its place. She climbs in, avoiding the urge to turn around and check if he's watching her or not.

_**701** _

Yamcha sits across from her, staring at his feet. He hasn't brought flowers today, an ominous sign of what's to come. They sit in silence, until she can't stand it any longer, until she has to say it, has to get it over and  _done_.

"You haven't contacted me in a  _month_. A  _month_ , Yamcha." She's a horrible person. Even now, when she's the one doing this, she tries to shift the blame.

"Yeah, well neither have you."

"Exactly." She looks away, staring out the window, seeing nothing. "This always happens. We're good for a while, but it's never stable. It's never  _right_. We piss each other off too much." It's the truth. She repeats this to herself.  _It's the truth._

The silence is deafening. "Say something," she urges.

He shrugs, his mouth twisted into a bitter line. "What is there to say? You wanna end it? Fine. It's done. That's what, thirteen, fourteen years down the drain?" He gets up and pulls his jacket on.

"Don't be like that. We're still friends. You're welcome here –"

"Don't. Fuck, Bulma. Don't. I'm not welcome while that asshole's here. You better be careful –"

"Of  _what?!_ " she shrieks defensively. "Don't tell me what to do!"

"I'm  _not!_ " he yells, throwing his arms wide. "I'm leaving!"

" _FINE!_ "

" _FINE!_ "

She stares at his back as he storms down the hall. The room is silent. She sits, frozen.

Eventually she swallows back the lump in her throat, and wipes the back of her hand across her eyes. Smudges of black mascara stain her fingers.

"Fuck," she swears. There's guilt, and there's sadness, and there's shame. She still loves him – she'll always love him – but it's not enough. It never was – which was half of their problem to begin with – and it never will be.

Thirteen, fourteen years. She curls up in her chair, forehead pressed to her knees, and sobs. It fucking breaks her heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: *Bites nails nervously* Yes, I may just be a Yamcha sympathizer, as well as a B/V lover. I'm trying to do them all justice here.


	3. Part Three

**A THOUSAND SLEEPS**

**Part Three**

_**692** _

" _Shit._ " Silence, and then the crash of breaking glass. " _Fucking Yamcha._ "

Her hissed curses are enough to garner his attention, and he leaves the kitchen and wanders down the hall, following the sound of her voice. He finds her in her bedroom, and stands in the doorway, observing.

Her pathetic senses once again fail to register that he is there. He watches with curiosity as she sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Her eyes are reddened, and he realises that she's been crying. This shocks him, though he doesn't quite know why.

Her floor is covered in cardboard boxes, each one half-filled with junk. She picks up another item from the pile of shit amassed on her bed – a ridiculous fluffy toy – sniffles and makes a pained face, and throws it hard into one of the boxes at her feet.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

He regrets the question as soon as it leaves his mouth. She jumps with a yelp and stares at him, wide-eyed for a moment. This startled expression quickly melts into a frown.

"What are  _you_  doing here, huh? Creeping up on people isn't polite, Vegeta." He doesn't miss the way she moves as she addresses him – planting her feet wide, standing tall, her hands held firmly against her hips. He's known the odd woman like her before, and it is a shame that a fighter's personality has been wasted on her weakling body.

"I only came here to tell you to be quiet. I can hear your snivelling cries from the kitchen. It's pathetic."

She turns her back to him with the roll of her eyes. "This is my house, buddy. I can do what I want. Why don't you just go back to your little gravity cave if it bothers you so much? That whole place is soundproofed." He snorts, and she continues, throwing another item in the box at her feet. "I'm packing up Yamcha's shit."

That surprises him. "Why?"

"Because he doesn't live here anymore." Her voice is flat as she says this, and he stares at her back, watching the tension run through her body. That is the problem with this woman – with all Earthlings. They're so fucking transparent. All the  _emotions_ around here drive him insane.

"You're not fucking him anymore." It's a statement, said slowly as he recalls the last month and realizes he hasn't seen the fool since before the ship last exploded.

The woman is silent for a moment. When she turns back to him there's an odd look in her eyes. "No, I'm not."

The silence in the room is thick, palpable, the look in her eye dangerous. He snorts and turns away from her and her discarded treasures.

_**670** _

She catches a taxi home, knowing that this light-headedness means she's over the legal limit. The driver isn't a talker, and she stares out the window in silence, watching the last shards of midsummer sunlight blink in and out between the shadows of skyscrapers, until the landscape around her is filled with industrial buildings, and the huge yellow dome of her home appears in the distance. Even in this twilight it seems to glow.

" _It's too bright. The house is just too much of a beacon. I had to get away, I wanted to be normal, to live my own life."_  She shakes her head at the sudden memory of her sister and the excuses for Tights' hermit life, so far away from her family, or anyone else for that matter. She could at least visit once in a while, but she never does. Bulma sighs, pulling out a hundred for the driver, and tells him to pull up outside the gate.

The air outside is cool now, the heat of the day quickly disappearing, and her skin prickles into gooseflesh, her sleeveless cocktail dress ineffective against the chill of the oncoming night. Her heels click loudly against the concrete drive outside the compound, and she slips them off, carrying them in hand as she moves onto the lawn, circumnavigating the house as she aims for the spaceship in the yard. The grass is cool beneath her feet, moist from her mother's sprinkler system, and she feels as if she is floating across this sea of green, her eyes on the island ahead.

The ship is empty. It's not surprising – her mother will have dinner ready, and nothing comes between Vegeta and food. She steps back as the ship's door lifts open, the entry ramp opening out beside her feet. She glances around as she steps inside, and only breathes a sigh of relief once the door closes behind her.

This space smells of Vegeta. She doesn't switch on the light, and ignores the dirty stains on the floor, the blood and sweat and possible tears that intermingle on the tiles. Her eyes lift to the ceiling of this ship, only two months old, and in the dim light she sees not the tiles above her, but the imaginings of a new gravity chamber, large and vast and sturdy. Walls far stronger than these, extra warning programs, a faster gravity system with bio monitors, another failsafe against the dangers of a Saiyan with little regard for his own safety.

The attic of the main building, filled only with empty labs and spare bedrooms, would be perfect for this, and her fingers itch to begin the project, this challenge.

_Why?_

It concerns her, this train of thought, this idea that entered her mind this morning and failed to leave. To give Vegeta such a space within her own home... well, that would say something, wouldn't it?

There isn't any point building a permanent fixture for something,  _someone_ , who will leave.

And where will he go? Once the Android threat is dealt with, what will he do? She wonders, as she often does, whether fuelling his power is a good decision in the face of his declarations that he will kill Goku, that he will murder them all. Her gut feeling is that he wouldn't go through with it... well how reliable is that?

Yet she still wonders, if she gave him the option, the ability, the opportunity to stay and live on Earth in peace, would he take it?

And then she asks herself,  _Why do I want him to?_

_**669** _

"Oh poor Vegeta was wearing even more bandages last night! That man works so hard!"

"More?" She looks up from the pancakes she's been picking at to stare at her mother across the table, her fork poised in the air. "What do you mean, 'more bandages'? He was already covered when I left the house yesterday."

Her mother ignores her, caught up as she is in her own musings. "That poor man! He never stops!" Bulma watches as she fluffs her blonde hair, "He's so handsome too. Such great husband material!"

Perhaps it's the late night she had, scribbling down blueprints for gravity chambers in a tipsy haze, or perhaps it's the way her stomach flips when the words 'Vegeta' and 'handsome' combine in her brain. For whatever reason, her mother's comments push her over the edge – there is only so much silliness she can take – and she stands up, slamming her palms against the table in front of her. "What are you  _talking about?!_  Vegeta is crazy! If he's not threatening to kill us all, he's locking himself away, working out until he  _nearly dies_ ,  _repeatedly_ , and you think that's a  _good_  thing?!"

Her mother's wide smile disappears for a moment, and Bulma instantly feels guilty as she stares into the blue eyes that mirror her own. But then her Mom blinks, and the smile is back, although it's ever so slightly pulled at the edges.

"He's lonely. He's a poor man, dear, even if he is a prince."

The statement pierces her with a sharpness that catches her off guard, and she sinks back into her chair, staring at her unfinished pancakes.  _Lonely_ , she shakes her head, yet knows that it's true. She's seen just how desperately alone he is.

_**654** _

"It's not a huge problem, but it needs to be fixed now. Under the gravity, even a little crack like that could cause the whole side to rupture."

He doesn't bother to suppress the growl that bubbles up from the back of his throat. Bulma shoots him a sidelong look, a smile dancing faintly on her lips.

"What?" he snaps, irritated.  _Another_  breakage in the gravity room – this time a small crack running through the panelling on the inside wall – means another delay.

"You have got to be  _the_  most impatient person I've ever met," she replies, the smile still playing on her red-stained lips. He has the most insane urge to lean forward and bite her, right there. Instead he steps back, doubling the distance between them.

"I want this fucking thing fixed.  _Now_ ," he says dangerously. She ignores his tone completely – fucking idiot – and leans closer, her lips stretching wide into a ridiculous grin.

"Well, I won't be able to fix it by myself, today," she tells him. "But if you were to help…"

He stares at her, clenching and unclenching his fits, so infuriated by the audacity of her request, by her very presence, that he doesn't dare to open his mouth.

"Well?" she asks, cocking her head to the side. "Are you going to help me, or what?"

He turns without a sound, and walks right out of the ship. The woman's voice echoes behind him, but he ignores her, taking to the skies. He'll train in the fucking desert if he has to.

There is no way he'll spend all afternoon shut in that room with  _her_.

_**645** _

She can't ignore the chills that run over her skin as she flies over what used to be East City. Beneath her is nothing but a vast crater, a huge thing over fifty kilometers in diameter. In the middle of the perfect, alien circle stands a single structure, a temple-like memorial to the dead.

She remembers the day East City was flattened, and the hairs on her arms rise at the thought that it wasn't so long ago. The Saiyans had landed and razed East City to the ground within minutes of their arrival, and they'd all thought the aliens were monsters.

She flies low over the monument, watching it glitter in the sunlight. A million people dead in seconds.

A million gone, at the hands of Vegeta.

She feels sick as she pulls the plane up, ascending into the clouds, until the empty land is far behind her.

_**636** _

He is alone in the darkened living room when the woman stumbles past into the kitchen, hands dug deep into the pockets of her lab coat, and he is once again amazed by the utter lack of awareness humans have of their surroundings. He listens as the faint noises of the night – vehicles in the distance, insects chirping, all the incessant little things that drive him mad – are replaced by the groaning and grinding of the foul  _cappuccino maker_  that the humans are so reliant on.

She is as noisy as the machine in her preparations. A drawer crashes closed and a utensil clatters on the ground. He listens to her curse up a storm. The drawers open again, even noisier this time than the last. The machine stops. The foul smell of coffee fills the air. He hears the clatter of her spoon on the rim of the cup as she stirs extra sugar into the mix. Her process is always the same. She is as repetitive and boring as every other creature on this planet.

The spoon rattles as it's dropped into the sink. He hears her sigh, and though he cannot see her, he knows she's relaxing against the countertop, sipping away at the liquid that will get her through another long night. A dog barks in the distance, and in the relative silence he wonders what project she's working on now.

He frowns as another noise from the kitchen cuts through the air. He smells lemon and ginger, listens to another drawer opening, another spoon clattering against the rim of a mug.

When she appears in the doorway he turns towards the window, but his back it isn't enough to deter her. Her footsteps move closer, until he can sense her hovering just behind him.

"I made you some tea. Mom says lemon and ginger is your favourite."

It seems he cannot find a moment's peace away from these foolish creatures. Turning, he grudgingly accepts the drink she's offered, only because the scent of it has made him thirsty. He waits for some irritating remark to come from her mouth, but instead she only stares at him with slightly furrowed brows. He glares back.

"I worry about you sometimes," she says quietly. Her mouth curves upwards, and a dark laugh escapes her lips as she shakes her head from side to side, her ridiculous curls moving about her face. "I don't know why; you're a homicidal maniac who murdered my ex."

He wonders, briefly, why he tolerates her presence in such situations. When was it that he began allowing her to speak to him in such a way?

"You're an idiot," he tells her, and takes a gulp of his drink. It burns his tongue, but he ignores this as the liquid sears down his throat.

She frowns and sighs in that overdramatic way of hers. He turns back towards the window, away from her, though he can feel her gaze lingering on his face as silence envelopes them.

Minutes drag on, and he finds that her presence no longer irritates him as it used to, even as her eyes, a blue he's never seen before, remain focused on him.

There is a shift in the air, a pull between them, and he is suddenly aware of how dangerous the situation is. He smells her arousal and his body betrays him, his cock twitching to life in response. He fixes his eyes on the lights of the city below, refusing to look at her.

"Vegeta."

He glances at her from the corner of his eye. She steps closer, but he is saved as an object falls from her coat pocket onto the ground with a crash that echoes through the room.

" _Shit_ ," she hisses, and he takes the opportunity to step back, distancing himself from her as she bends to retrieve the fallen item.

"I've never met a clumsier creature," he tells her, and is rewarded by a glare.

"Has anyone ever told you you're an ass? 'Cause you are," she bites back, polishing the object against the side of her coat. He recognizes it as the  _dragonball radar_  that the brat used on Namek, and snatches it from her grasp.

"Hey! Give that back! I'm doing maintenance on it, okay? If one of you lunkheads die fighting those Androids I'm going to need it to wish you back!"

He turns away from her, dropping the device on one of the couches as he moves towards the door. "You couldn't handle a dragonball hunt. Look what happened last time," he sneers over his shoulder.

He ignores her sarcastic "Oh yeah, 'cause  _you_  did so well on your hunt for the dragonballs," and heads to his room. It is only at his door that he realizes he's still holding a mug full of lukewarm lemon tea.

.

The lights in her lab blink on automatically as she steps back through the door. Her slippers sound too loud as she steps across the tiles, the dragonball radar in her hand. "Idiot," she says as she catches her distorted reflection in the rounded body of a bot she's been working on for Vegeta.

 _Vegeta, Vegeta, Vegeta._  She's exhausted. Her brain is addled due to a serious lack of sleep. That's why she almost hit on the alien responsible for mass murder who happens to be living in her house. She needs to get to bed.

_Or into his bed._

"Ugh!"

Her cry echoes in the empty lab. It's two in the morning, and she's aware that the mad scientist is coming out in her. Talking to herself is one of those bad habits of hers. Fantasizing about hot alien sex with Vegeta is another one.

She slumps down into her desk chair, craning her neck back until she's staring at the ceiling, eyes running over the familiar cracks in the tiles.

She knows how silly, how stupid, how wrong it would be to get with Vegeta, but that doesn't stop her from wanting all the same.

"You have more important things to worry about," she tells herself.

It's true. She shifts forward, digging her hand into her coat pocket and pulling out the dragon radar. Her fingers glide over the keypad embedded in her desk, and her locked drawer clicks open in response.

She places the dragonball radar inside the drawer. She stares at it, sitting beside the three dragonballs she's already collected, and decides that it's time she planned another fake business trip and hunted for the fourth. It'll do her good to get away from the lab, the house, and Vegeta.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you're wondering who Tights is, google Jaco The Galactic Patrolman. Akira Toriyama has suddenly given Bulma an older sister, which is exciting, but also confusing in terms of working out where she fits in the DB timeline! I had a scene written out where I actually introduced her into the story, but it didn't fit right, so I'll have to write her into another fanfiction.


	4. Part Four

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

* * *

**A THOUSAND SLEEPS**

**Part Four**

_**574** _

"It'd be faster if you let me bandage you."

He ignores  _her_  presence and continues to wind the white fabric around his torso, though the movement makes him want to scream in pain. He doesn't let it show on his face.

She clicks her tongue and enters the room anyway, despite the glare he gives her. He steps back, a growl rumbling in his throat, but she moves closer regardless. The bitch obviously lacks all common sense whatsoever. "I don't need your help," he growls as her hands settle over his, reaching for the roll of bandages.

"The faster you get strapped up the faster you can get on with your day. Here," she says, her bright blue eyes determined as she stares up at him. He bares his fangs at her, but she begins the process of bandaging him anyway. Her delicate fingers brush across his chest as she works quickly. She doesn't make eye contact again, and his eyes focus on her hair, a hundred different shades of blue that shine in the light. She's done away with her tight curls; now it sits in loose waves around her shoulders. He likes it better.

He snorts when he realises the ridiculous nature of his thoughts. She jumps as if jolted by an electric current and stares up at him, wide-eyed from the fright, and her sheer stupidity is enough to make him bark out a laugh. The movement jars his broken ribs, and he doesn't appreciate the weak slap she gives to his shoulder, but she is smiling up at him, her eyes shining, and for a moment he feels something other than disdain for this strange woman.

The moment passes. He steps back, out of her reach. He ties off the bandage and throws the remainder fabric on the infirmary bed, and heads out the door.

"Hey!" she says, her feet pounding on the carpet behind him. "What about a  _'Thank you Bulma, that was nice of you?!'_ "

He whirls around to face her, and from the way she steps back he knows he's frightened her. "Fuck off!" he hisses. He leaves her standing in the hall, frozen like the fool she is.

_**539** _

As she stands barefoot on the lawn, staring at the smoking body of the spaceship, she thinks to herself that in an ideal world the air would smell like jasmine and freshly cut grass, and the cool twilight breeze would be relief from the heat of the day.

Instead Bulma holds an old shirt over her nose to shut out the smoke and watches as Vegeta douses the ship with water using the garden hose, while she adds  _Buy emergency fire hose_ to her never-ending to-do list. Sweat runs down her neck and between her breasts – the goddamned fire was  _hot_  – and the wind continues to blow smoke her way, until she feels as if she'll never get the smell of burning rubber out of her pores.

Thank kami she never put fuel in this one. She glares at the alien man, currently hovering over the top of the once perfect ship. He makes the mistake of landing on the rounded roof, and before her eyes it begins to cave in with a loud groan, the cracks in the outer shell too extensive.

"Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall." She shakes her head as she mumbles the old nursery rhyme to herself, staring at the broken shell of her once glorious creation.

Vegeta lands in front of her, arms crossed and brows drawn in his perpetual disappointment. "You need to fix this."

She sighs, because she's argued a hundred times already, and the outcome is always the same. She'll fix what he breaks, and he'll break what she fixes. She meets his gaze, takes the sight of him in, smoke stained and shirtless, and knows that she's a sucker for handsome men. Goddamnit.

_**471** _

A distraction. That's what she is, an itch that needs to be scratched. She fills his head, occupies his dreams, takes over his senses every time she is near. After bearing this for eighteen months, he decides that he will give in to the temptation and get it out of his system.

It is on this day that she shuts down the gravity from outside the capsule ship he is training in, disrupting his training. The angry words that he has for her die on his tongue as she steps into the gravity room, for there is a look in her eye that is as demanding as it is direct, and he can smell her wanting in the air. They're both wordless as she undresses before him, her blue gaze bright as her hands undo each zip and clasp with taunting slowness. He is quick in removing his own clothing.

He fucks her on the floor, committing every taste and smell and touch and  _cry_  of hers to memory. She is by far the finest creature he's ever laid with, and for the shortest time he, the devil incarnate, touches heaven.

Only later does it occur to him how odd it was that they were on the same wavelength, how strange that both of them came to the same conclusion – that they must give in to their desires – at the same time.

_**455** _

He has her backed into a corner. Her blue eyes shine and a smile plays on her lips as she pulls at the pins in her hair. Soft blue curls cascade down around her shoulders. Her smile widens as she toys with the buttons on her thin white shirt. He watches as she looks him up and down, her eyes lingering on his crotch.

"Do you want me to take it off?" she asks, head cocked to the side.

"I think you already know the answer." His dick is throbbing, and his fingers itch to touch her, but he restrains himself as he watches her. She makes a little show of undoing each button slowly, until the shirt hangs open, revealing that black bra she's been teasing him with all day. "Take it off," he orders, though he bristles as he hears the impatience in his own voice.

As soon as her shirt hits the floor he springs forward, pressing her against the wall. She utters a small cry as he pins her hands back against the cold metal wall of the ship.

"You're nothing like Prince Charming." Her voice is breathy and full of humour in his ear. He bites lightly at her shoulder, and kisses a path up her neck to lick at her earlobe.

"You complaining?" he asks softly, his voice full of gravel. She laughs breathlessly until he pins her harder against the wall, grinding his hips against hers through their clothing. Her laughter becomes a breathless panting as she digs her fingers into his hair and wraps her legs around his waist. He kneads at her ass, burying his fingers into her back pockets as her feet lock together against his spine. The pulse in her neck throbs under his tongue.

"Mmmm… Prince Charming rescued virgins from tall towers guarded by fire-breathing dragons. He was a hero. All you seem to do is pillage," she says, her head thrown back as he tears her bra to pieces.

"I am no hero; you know that," he replies, shifting her higher in his arms until her breasts hover in front of his face. "Besides, you're no virgin."

"You complaining?" she asks, smirking down at him. Their eyes meet, though he's too busy using his tongue to reply.

_**421** _

She lies back against the sheets, watching him as he bends to pick up his discarded clothing. The faint moonlight catches on his skin, illuminating taut muscles and terrible scars. She stares at the round, furred lump at the bottom of his spine, where his tail once was, and it hits her once more that this man is entirely different and utterly new; a force that this world has never seen before. After all, he's nothing like Son Goku.

"How old are you?"

She bites her lip, pulling the sheets a little higher around her shoulders as he turns back to face her. She didn't mean to speak out loud, but now that one question has been asked she finds that there are a million others on the tip of her tongue. Here is a man who has stayed in her house for over two years; a man that she has let into her bed, and yet she knows so little about him.

He steps back, tilting his chin upwards so that he is looking down his nose at her in that arrogant way of his that is – much to her irritation – damn sexy. "How old do you think I am?"

Vegeta stares at her, waiting for an answer, and she feels herself flush red under his gaze. His mouth twitches – the slightest indication that he finds this line of conversation amusing – and her blush deepens.

"I honestly don't know. You're older than Son-kun, for sure. I mean, he was a baby when he arrived here, but you have to have been old enough to remember…" She trails off, realising too late that she's broken an unspoken taboo in comparing him to  _Kakarot_. His jaw jumps in irritation, and she can practically hear his teeth grinding together behind his down-turned mouth. His eyes narrow as he stares at her, and his lips compress into a thin line. Her gut twists as she realises just how deep his hatred of Goku lies; his outward composure betrayed by his clenched fists, his knuckles glowing white in the dark.

The moment passes, and he breaks their gaze, bending to step into his underwear. She sighs, relaxing back once more, watching quietly.

"I'm thirty four, in your Earth years." His voice is quiet, and in it she hears many things; regret, despair, loneliness. As a child he had probably assumed he would be King by this age; wealth and riches and victories to his name. The life he had instead… hear heart breaks, just a little, at the thought.

The room is silent apart from the faint rustle of his clothes as he dresses. She opens her mouth, pauses, and then thinks ' _What the hell._ '

"You've seen a lot in your thirty four years. More than most people would in a lifetime."

His head pops out through the neck of his shirt, and for the briefest moment she catches a glimpse of the real Vegeta; the one he hides so carefully behind a mask. In a flash it is gone, and his back is turned to her once more as he heads for the door.

She watches him go, and resolves to learn more about him. Soon.

  


 


	5. Part Five

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

* * *

**A THOUSAND SLEEPS**

**Part Five**

_**411** _

Bulma groans as she slips her feet out of her stilettos and onto the padded carpet. Her back aches, and after a long day at Capsule Corp HQ she only has the energy to think in single syllables:  _wine, couch, rest_.

 _Change_. Suddenly she's disgusted by her work clothes, and there's nothing that seems more appealing than taking off her pencil skirt and conservative white shirt. What she needs is fat pants and an old t-shirt. And ice-cream and chocolate. She's a slob at heart, and she doesn't care what anyone else thinks.

She rounds another corner in the rabbit-warren that is her house, and finds herself face to face with Vegeta. He's bent in pain, his forearm braced on the wall and his blood-stained face contorted in a grimacing sneer. Doubled-over like this, he doesn't even notice her presence as she steps closer, a tell-tale sign of how badly injured he is.

The dear she feels for him in this moment is bone deep and chills her to the core, and the sheer depth of this feeling shocks her.

His breath hitches, and his legs give way. She runs to catch him.

.

He ignores her presence. He knows better than to tell her to leave – she won't – and she knows better than to step any closer when he's in this mood. Instead she hovers just inside the doorway to the infirmary, her blue eyes wide with concern.

He's covered in blood from the gash on his head. It was superficial, really, but it obviously hit a small artery, and the iron tang of drying blood fills the air. He's pissed off, because his training session was going well, showing signs of actual progress, before a bot caught him off guard.

"The gravity simulator will need repairing," he snarls through clenched teeth, taking a seat on the infirmary bed.

"You fell on it." It is a statement, not a question, and he doesn't bother replying as he reaches for the bandages. His ribs are broken on his right side and it hurts like a bitch, and for a moment he loses consciousness. When the darkness fades he finds that she is beside him, those blue eyes piercing him in a way that feels too goddam physical. He snorts and drags his gaze away.

"Right ribs are broken," he concedes, and allows her to begin the tedious job of wrapping his torso.

"It looks painful."

He snorts, only just catching himself before he appropriates one of her favourite phrases. The words ' _No shit, Captain Obvious_ ,' burn on the tip of his tongue, another indication that he's been on this planet for too long. Instead, he allows himself a curt "It is."

"You've damaged that side before. Last year." It's not quite a question, but her tone demands a reply. He shoots her another quick glance, grinding his teeth together to stop himself from hissing in pain.

"Hnn."

There's no reply, just the click of her throat as she swallows back some fretful remark. She even manages to lace  _that_  with concern. He snorts with disgust. "Just piss off, Woman," he growls, but she doesn't leave, and those blue eyes remain fixated on him as her hands continue to work, her touch soft and cool against his bare skin.

She completes the bandaging in silence while he takes a moment to take in her appearance. She's barefoot and her crisp white shirt is blood-stained, her hair curling around her shoulders in a bedraggled mess. There's one bloodied handprint on the slope of her breast, where he grabbed blindly at her as he fell, and the shame of that show of weakness sickens him to the core.

His weakness is obviously on her mind, too. "Is that a weak spot, then?" she asks, gently patting his right side. "It always seems to be those ribs."

Her tone is innocent enough, but he has lived too long not to be wary of those who ask too many questions. Unbidden, the memory of a conversation filters through his mind –  _"I've known Goku since he was a kid; trust me…" –_ and he tenses, a cold dread rushing over him.

Oh, he has been a fool.

He's staring at her, face unguarded, all the while listening to the monologue in his head.  _She knows too much… asking about my weaknesses. Kakarot... She is loyal to Kakarot. "I've known Goku since he was a kid…"_

A growl rips from his throat, deep and feral, and he smells the answering fear from her. She takes her hands off of him slowly, stepping just out of reach, her hands splayed out in front of her. She stares at him as if he is a rabid dog, and he snarls again.

"You want to know about my weaknesses?" he hisses. "For what purpose?"

Her eyes widen in shock, before narrowing with displeasure. She makes an ugly face, her lips pressed in a thin line. "You think I've got some sort of hidden agenda?" she demands, those blue eyes searching his face.

"You're certainly close to Kakarot."

" _What?_  You're kidding me, right? You think I'm going around telling him everything about you? Like a  _spy?_ "

"You tell me."

She stands tall, a wash of emotions on her face as she looks down at him. The minutes drag on, and her expression finally settles on sad. It doesn't look right on her.

"You can trust me, Vegeta," she says, her voice tinged with pity. "I know you've had a hard life, but it's different he– "

"Get. Out." His fists are clenched, nails digging into his palms. "Now."

She leaves without another word.

.

She pauses just outside the infirmary door, and stands there, staring dumbly ahead until she realises that she's shaking.

"Fucking  _hell_ ," she curses under her breath. She feels sick.

She's covered in his blood and sweat. She walks to her bedroom on autopilot, her thoughts racing at a million miles an hour.

.

The door to her bedroom opens with a soft click, and the dim light from the hall stains her carpet yellow. He leaves the door open behind him, and every step towards her bed feels heavy, as if he is still struggling against bone-crushing gravity. There's a foreign ache in his chest that has nothing to do with his broken ribs.

She looks tiny in her massive bed, and he stands over her, watching her sleep. Her limbs are sprawled in utter abandon, her hair a fan of blue against her pillow, her pink lips slightly parted. She sleeps with the carefree knowledge that she is safe from harm, and this mistaken innocence is strikingly beautiful.

He is the predator here. He has not lived so long by accident; his purging missions may be nothing but blurs in his mind, rabid rampages fuelled by bloodlust, but he remembers each and every assassination with vivid clarity, the silent murders he has executed in order to ensure his own survival.

This is no different. She knows too much. She is a liability to him. She is a danger to his survival; her loyalty lies with Kakarot – it always has, and he was a fool to ever forget that. He unclenches one fist, and reaches slowly towards her.

His hand fits perfectly around her small neck.

One small movement – it is all that is needed. He stands there, on the edge of the abyss, feeling her pulse beat strong and steady against his fingertips. He stares at her face, daring her to wake up, to see what he is about to do. She ought to die with the knowledge that she should not have been so damn foolish to let a monster into her bed.

His hand does not constrict. It's not the crush of windpipe and bone that he feels against his palm, but the soft curve of her breast as his hand slides over her body. She exhales in a big sigh, her breath feathering over his arm as she rises towards the surface of wakefulness. Her nipple hardens under his thumb, and suddenly he is achingly hard in his shorts.

She blinks up at him with her big blue eyes, squinting in the dark. There's a smile on her lips, and he is taken aback once more by the trust in her eyes. She stretches before him, arching her back and spreading her legs beneath the thin sheets, completely unaware that anything is amiss. "Vegeta," she groans, her voice still thick with sleep.

He realizes, suddenly, that she is not fully alert. The term  _sleepwalking_  comes to mind – he overheard her ex complain about her odd sleeping habits, once. He pinches her nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling, and is rewarded with a hiss that slices through the thick night air. She gasps, her lungs inflating under his hand, and he feels the subtle, subterranean shift in her flesh that marks the bridge between sleep and wakefulness.

"Mmmm. Vegeta." She is fully alert now, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He can smell her; a heady tang that has him straining in his shorts.

"What would you have me do, Woman?" It is a demand hissed in frustration. He has strayed so far from his intended course. What the fuck is he doing here?

"Fuck me."

Her voice, so sultry through those bee-stung lips, is his final undoing. He moves with the desperation of a drowning man consigned to his fate. His lips crush against hers, his hands tearing back the sheets from her naked flesh, his arms wrapping underneath her, lifting until she is crushed against his body. She writhes against him, her hands scrabbling to pull at his waistband. He growls, feeling utterly feral now, and tugs down at his shorts, just enough to free himself. In the same movement he lifts her, sheathing himself deep within her, groaning against her lips. She bites back at him, hissing an exhale through her teeth.

He fucks her without ceremony, his shorts still bunched around his thighs, his movements relentless. He takes what he needs without mercy, and she allows him.

When he spills himself within her it is as if his lifeblood flows out with it, and he collapses on top of her, feeling the air crush out of her lungs with the force of the movement. His face is buried in her soft hair, and he lies there, unwilling and unable to move, feeling her chest rise slowly beneath him with each gasping breath.

He is still buried within her, and he finds himself reluctant to sever this connection. Here in this moment there is nothing but her – her sweet scent, her wet pleasure, her soft touch as her thighs wrap around him and her hands skim down his spine.

She turns her head and plants a kiss on his ear, and he wants to remain here forever in this small instant, where nothing else exists but her redemption. But his body cannot forget the years of training, of stress and fear, and his momentary oblivion recedes, as it always does.

He pulls away from her without a word, and escapes from the stifling atmosphere of her room. He keeps walking, until he is away from the house, away from her scent that permeates everything. He takes to the air, flying across land and ocean until there are miles between them, until he is half the world away, and still her scent clings to him. She has infiltrated every pore, and in his mind he hears her voice and all the honesty in it.  _"You can trust me, Vegeta."_

He floats above an ocean as blue as her eyes, and takes great gasping breaths, trying to shut her out. But her voice echoes in his head, and his body reeks with the smell of its betrayal, and he concedes that he can do her no harm.

_**410** _

She ignores the sounds of the cleaning bot behind her, swatting it away as it come to close to the parts she's laid out on the floor. "This isn't garbage," she tells it impatiently. "Go clean up the blood stains over there."

"Apologies, Ms Briefs," it whirs, its small wheels swivelling neatly over the gravity chamber's tiles. She watches it for a moment longer, rolling her eyes, and then turns back to the task at hand.

Compared to past damage this repair job is minor; a few hours' worth, tops. Still, it's a pain in the butt, and she curses Vegeta under her breath for all the trouble he's given her.

She unbolts another dented panel from the gravity simulator, examining the caved in metal and envisioning the moment when Vegeta fell on it with the force of 450 times Earth's gravity – enough to break even his bones.

' _You want to know about my weaknesses?'_  She can still see him bristling with anger in her mind's eye, demanding to know why she was interested in such a thing.

"Because I'm interested in you, silly man," she says out loud, grunting as she hefts a clean panel into place. "Because I care."

She wonders, not for the first time, what the hell she's doing here with Vegeta. There can be no future with such a man, not when he is incapable of trusting anyone.

Perhaps it is the impending doom that has made her reckless. She finds herself deciding that she doesn't care about the consequences of this affair with Vegeta, so long as she can enjoy it in the here and now.

_**400** _

Vegeta is training in the ship outside, her parents are out, and all her work is up to date. She closes her eyes and relaxes back against her lab chair for a moment, enjoying the peacefulness of her quiet lab.

But her mind doesn't let her rest, and with a sigh she sits up straight and unlocks her desk drawer, pulling out her dragonball radar. All five of the dragonballs that she's collected roll around in the small drawer as she closes it again, clinking together softly.

She pulls up the coordinates for the next ball on the radar and enters this into the new programme she's developed. There is an answering bleep from the small droid that sits on her desk, and she smiles, pleased to see that everything appears in working order.

She picks up the small droid and carries it over to the open window. It sits on the window pane, looking like a simple football – good enough disguise for these purposes – its two retractable claws invisible, hidden inside its little body.

She sits back at her computer, quickly programming the instructions for the droid. She hesitates for a moment, one thin finger hovering over the 'enter' button on her keyboard, and looks back at the tiny robot. If everything goes well, it will find the sixth dragonball for her and bring it back without her having to lift a finger.

Her finger presses down with a decisive 'click', and the tiny droid takes to the air, disappearing from sight.

_**383** _

Bulma watches as the dragon loops its way into the sky in a flash of gold, curling around on itself until its head appears, red eyes glaring down at her. The air is filled with electricity, static causing her skin to prickle. For once she is alone at Shenron's tail, the seven dragon balls that anchor him to the Earth glowing only a few meters away from where she stands on this deserted island.

She's seen Shenron - and his cousin Porunga - many times, and yet he still manages to strike an odd mixture of fear and awe into her heart. Lighting crashes in the pitch black sky as the dragon's jaw opens to reveal rows of gleaming teeth. "You have awakened me from my slumber," the he says, his voice booming all around her, the sound reverberating in her chest. "Speak wisely, and I will grant you one wish."

She has come too far to turn back now. For once she has the opportunity to be the hero, to change her fate, the fate of her friends, and that of the Earth. "I wish to know the precise location of Doctor M. Gero's secret lab," she tells the dragon.

Shenron's eyes begin to glow. "So be it," he says solemnly, and in that instant she knows exactly where Gero can be found. She can see the mountains where Gero hides in her mind, and the coordinates are just as clearly imprinted in her memory.

The dragon wastes no time in departing. "Your wish has been granted," he tells her, his snaking body already beginning to spark with golden light. "Goodbye." The accompanying gust of wind messes up her hair, but this early in the morning no one is going to care. She looks out to sea, watching the horizon as the first light of dawn begins to brighten the sky. Directly above the brightest stars still shine, no longer covered by the black shroud Shenron brings with him.

It's no mistake that she's out so early. She's timed her use of the dragonballs perfectly, calling Shenron forth at a time when all of her friends are sleeping in their beds. None of them will have noticed the pitch black sky.

It is a relief to know that after so much time and effort spent surreptitiously collecting the dragonballs, she finally has what's needed. It's her anger at Goku's nonchalance to the whole Android threat that's got her this far, and she hopes that she'll have enough courage to force her through the next stage of her plan.

She stands on the beach, listening to the waves lap at the shore, and takes in the beauty and peace of this moment. She wants another thousand moments like this, and yet it is entirely possible that her days are numbered.

She asks herself why she feels the need to do this herself.  _Pig headed stubbornness_ ; it's a term Yamcha once used to describe her. She's been left out of the action more often than not these days, and those ungrateful boys seem to forget that she's the one who banded them all together in the first place. Perhaps that's why she wants to do this – she has something to prove.

The sun rises on a new day, painting the sky red blood red. She smiles wryly; the colour is morbidly fitting.

The tide rises, the waves slowly creeping closer. She stands, listening to the gulls cry overhead as she plots Doctor Gero's death.

_**382** _

She locks the door behind her and crosses the floor of the bare bedroom, her eyes focusing on the form of the man standing on the private balcony outside. At any moment she expects him to speak, and waits for the moment when he will berate her in that gravel voice that makes her knees weak. He doesn't disappoint.

"What are you doing here?"

She smiles to herself as she stands on the threshold to the balcony, her eyes trailing over Vegeta's bare back. "It's my house," she reminds him, grinning as his shoulders tense in response. "I'm allowed anywhere I like."

"And yet I could crush you in a second for invading my privacy."

"And yet you won't," she replies without skipping a beat. She steps forward, off the plush grey carpet that lines the bedroom floor and onto the cold tiles outside. The evening breeze is a tad too cool for her liking, and she shivers as she reaches out a hand to caress Vegeta's shoulder. His skin is blazing to the touch and she sighs in contentment as she steps further forward, pressing her entire body against his until she has moulded herself against his back. Her arms wind their way around his sides, caressing his washboard abs as she plants a chaste kiss on the back of his neck. He's showered already, and his skin smells clean and sweet and spicy all at once, and she relishes in the electric feel of his skin beneath her fingers.

"You wouldn't believe how annoying that business trip was," she grumbles. It is a lie, but she doesn't want Vegeta suspecting what she's really up to. "Did you miss me?" she whispers, planting kisses over his shoulder blades. She grins as she watches the muscle in his jaw jump, his head turning slightly so that he can glare at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Did I miss your infuriating blather? No." She grins at the insult. Eyes never leaving his gaze, she opens her mouth and bites at his shoulder gently. The shiver that runs through his body spurs her on, and her hand slips under the waistband of his pants.

" _This_  missed me," she whispers in his ear, her hand curling tight around her find. She is rewarded with a grunt as she squeezes tighter, rubbing her thumb up and down and over.

She squeals as he picks her up and throws her back on his bed. The balcony door is closed in an instant, the curtains drawn, the world banished. They are in their own little sphere as he undresses before her, his eyes burning with the passion she knows he has only ever shown her.

She pulls off her own clothes slowly, standing on the bed and giving him a little show. She can see the impatience in his form and smiles to herself as she steps out of her skirt and off the bed. He reaches for her, but she stops him with a hand on his chest.

He allows her to steer him towards the bed. He sits and she kneels before him, their eyes meeting as her lips slide over him. His fingers dig into her scalp, his gasping pants music to her ears.

She makes him cry out her name, and then she lets him have his revenge, over and over again until she's begging for mercy. She clings to him with a desperation that borders on madness as he fills her, again and again and again, knowing all the while that she still wants more.

At dawn she wakes alone and knows that there is still a wall he won't allow her to breach, and though she knows every inch of his flesh, it isn't enough to satisfy her desire for his heart.

_**381** _

Her foot nudges at the dead grass as she looks around the empty yard. There are ugly brown patches is the lawn where the legs of the spaceship-turned-gravity room sat until this morning.

She wraps her jacket tighter around her body as the wind tugs at her hair, whipping blue strands in front of her eyes. She's angry at Vegeta for leaving so suddenly, disappointed that their affair seems to have ended as suddenly as it began, but at the same time she understands why. He needs to train for the Androids – or at least that's what he thinks.

His absence means she can get on with her plan without any disruptions, and for that she is thankful. She heads back inside, her mind filled with the list of gear she needs to break into Gero's lab.


	6. Part Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder this story was originally written for the We're Just Saiyan community's Disney Challenge. If you are a B/V fan, come and check out the community on Google Plus.

**A THOUSAND SLEEPS**

**Part Six**

_**378** _

Bulma stares at the computer before her, watching as data continues to scroll across the screen, streaming live from Vegeta's ship. He's doing well – his bio stats look good, the ship is functioning at 100%, and there's enough fuel there to last him a year.

She feels a slights twinge of guilt as her eyes skim through the last of the data; Vegeta doesn't know about the bio monitors installed in this version of the ship, and would no-doubt throw a fit if he did. "If you didn't do such stupidly dangerous things it wouldn't be necessary," she mumbles to herself, thinking of all the times she found Vegeta on the verge of collapse amongst the smoking ruins of bots and gravity chambers. The monitors mean she'll be alerted if Vegeta suffers any life-threatening injuries, and, if necessary, the ship will return to Earth on its own accord. It's a failsafe, and one that she's pleased to have put in place before Vegeta jetted away without warning.

She sighs, because she knows she's procrastinating, using her concern for Vegeta as an excuse not to get on with her own  _potentially dangerous_  adventure. Fear gnaws away at her gut, and her hands feel numb as she unlocks her desk drawer that contains everything needed for ' _Operation Gero'_ , as she's come to think of it.

All of her equipment for the job is ready, sealed away within a nondescript capsule case. She takes this out, going through the list of equipment in her mind one more time, triple-checking that she is ready for her trip to the northern mountains. She is, and there is no point in delaying the journey any longer.

She tucks the capsule case in her back pocket, and heads towards her lab door, stopping to check her reflection in the full-length mirror on her way out. She's pulled her hair back into a tight bun, and the sleek look accentuates her cheekbones, giving her an edgier look than usual.

She pushes her shoulders back, taking in a deep breath as she examines her outfit – a simple white tank top and Capsule Corp jacket, paired with dark cargo pants and combat boots.  _Yeah_ , she reassures herself,  _I look tough. Time to kick some butt._

She takes one last glance at her lab computer. Something tells her that Vegeta won't be returning for a while – not until he's become a Super Saiyan – and for once she's glad. It will give her plenty of time to think about  _how_  she'll explain Gero's death and the androids' destruction to him.

.

She stands beside her small plane and looks up at the mountains before her. Gero's lab is concealed behind layers of rock, but she knows exactly where he is hiding. She's used tiny drones to spy on him over the last few days, and from all the video files she's collected she's discovered three different entrances to the secret lab.

She grins, praising her own genius as she slams the door shut on her plane, swiping her hand at a pesky fly that buzzes incessantly around her head. Her latest batch of drones were fitted out with ki sensors, modelled off those taken from Raditz' broken scouter, and those sent to spy on Gero only sensed one power level in his lab. It's a relief to know that Gero is alone in his lab. It will make her task much easier.

Still, her nerves are there, and her hands are shake as she pulls out a capsule and throws it away from her. Her favourite hoverbike appears from the capsule, and she climbs on, ignoring the writhing pit of snakes in her gut. She's never done anything like this before – she's always had the backing of her super-powered friends – but now she knows she has to do this on her own. The boys are all too stubborn to see how idiotic their choice is – why wait for killer androids to appear when disaster could so easily be averted by taking out their human creator?

The bike hums underneath her as she navigates her way slowly between the trees, and she can't help but think that it's fitting that she is here on a mission to take down the last remnants of the Red Ribbon Army. Everyone else talks about the army as if it were Goku alone that took them out, but she was there too.

Part of her can't wait to see the looks on all of their faces when she tells them that she, the lone woman in their group, destroyed Gero's plans before he could do any damage. It will serve them right for all the times that they've left her on the side lines, for all the times they've so conveniently forgotten to thank her for all of her hard work.

The pine forest is nothing like the sub-tropical forests she's used to, but it's still peaceful here, and the mindless task of weaving between the trees calms her. Though it's a cloudless day, only the odd pocket of sunlight filters through the to the forest floor, the ethereal glow winking in and out of sight as she rides on.

Her enjoyment of the fresh air and all the sights and scents of the forest quickly diminishes as the trees begin to thin out. The light on the forest floor increases steadily, and she knows she is nearing her target. Her hands are suddenly sweaty, the throttle on her bike slippery within her grasp.

It's nearly blinding when the tree line ends abruptly, and she skids to a halt, shielding her eyes with a hand and squinting up at the sharp cliff face before her. A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold wind runs down her spine as she eyes the lab entrance before her, a door of thick steel painted to match the tan colourer clay that surrounds it.

She encapsulates her bike, and swaps this one for another capsule that contains all her weapons and tools. Her fingers are numb as she dons a holster on each hip, carefully tucking her pistols away. An automatic rifle is strapped across her back, and with her tool belt strapped around her waist she is ready to go.

Opening the door itself is a relatively simple task – Gero's genius is no match for her own when it comes to security, and it takes no more than a minute to disable the electronic lock. The door swings open, revealing a dim corridor that ends in a flight of stairs, and she screws her nose up and the cold, dank smell of the place.

She's been in far worse places than this, but as she crosses the threshold she can't help but feel a little terrified. She takes one last glance at the bright blue sky, and then pulls the door closed behind her.

.

Her torch drops to the ground, and the clattering noise bounces off the cold stone walls. She bites down hard on her bottom lip, stifling a curse, and picks up the dropped flashlight with shaky fingers. She's breathing heavily from the never-ending stairs that wind around and around in the dark, making her dizzy. Her guns hangs heavy on her hips, and she suddenly feels too weak to hold them, yet alone use them on another person.

In this dark, claustrophobic place she can feel the panic creeping in. She takes another step, but the sound of her feet against the stone tiles feels wrong. It's too loud.

How long has she been in this place? She's lost track of time; she never thought to look at her watch when she began her ascent up the stairwell. She glances back, back down into the empty darkness below her, then back up to the darkness ahead. She has no idea how close she is to the lab. She stands frozen, unsure about where to go, what to do. She could turn around and leave, and be safe in her bed for another year. Her friends are all training... they could destroy the Androids, right?

The idea of glory – of defeating Gero and rubbing it in her friends' faces – how utterly ridiculous it now seems. She's a scientist, not a warrior, and she's not made for the front line. Still, her pride won't let her leave, and so she shines her torch up the stairwell once more.

A ghostly white face grins back at her in the bright light. It's wholly inhuman, and the high pitched laugh it utters chills her to the core. She screams, and once again the torch falls to the floor as she turns to run down into the black below. Ice cold hands clamp around her arms and she screams again, until her throat feels raw, until she can't scream anymore.

She's exhausted. Her struggles cease, and her head sags against her chest. She feels as if all her energy is being drained.  _I'm dying_ , she thinks. The world around her is no longer dark, but blindingly light, and it's so hard to keep her eyes open.

"Well done Nineteen. You've found the Briefs girl. Perhaps we can make use of her yet."

The words make no sense. She groans. Too many blue eyes swim before her, around and around as if she's trapped inside some kind of demented kaleidoscope. Darkness clouds her vision, until only one pair of eyes remains, framed in an old face that she suddenly recognizes. She's found Gero.

But it's too late.

_**300** _

Vegeta roars, his fist connecting with the last remaining training bot, sending it flying across the room. It shatters against the far wall of the ship, each tiny piece dropping to the ground with enough force to dent the tiles underneath.

He breathes heavily, his chest rising in great gasping breaths, every part of his being searing in pain. He stands in the centre of the ship, snarling through clenched teeth at his fuzzy reflection in the chrome surface of the gravity simulator.

He is a Saiyan warrior – a  _Saiyan Prince!_  He should not be weaker than that fool Kakarot!

But he is, and the rage he feels over this small fact bubbles to the surface. He throws his head back and lets out an almighty scream, pushing his ki to the very limit.

"I will defeat you, Kakarot!" he cries. "I will be a Super Saiyan!"

He will. He must.

He pushes all thoughts of the Earth and  _her_  aside. He will not return there until he can tear Kakarot limb from limb.

_**223** _

Consciousness does not come slowly. Instead it hits her full force, an electric shock in her veins, and she's gasping, struggling to make sense of her surroundings. Bright lights blind her as the room comes into focus.

Her heart is racing as she tries to move, but her limbs are restrained, her arms held down at her sides. She groans and lifts her head, and a scream dies in her throat, because she's naked and there's an old man standing over her, and her stomach is huge and bulging and she can't see her legs –  _OhGodIcan't feelthem!_  – and she doesn't understand.

The man… something itches at the back of her mind, even as he grins down at her. She knows him.  _She knows him_. Her eyes water as the name comes to mind –  _Gero, Doctor Gero_  – and the memories surface.

"Hello Bulma." He's frowning down at her, his blue eyes cold and glassy.

"Wha –" her throat feels raw, and her voice dies. She swallows painfully and tries again. " _What?_ " she croaks, the noise barely a whisper. Her mind is racing. She was in the lab, and the pale-faced man grabbed her, and…

"I have no idea how you found me," the doctor replies. "But you've always been a fool, ever since you were a child. I'm rather irritated by  _this_ ," he sneers, gesturing suddenly to her belly. "To think, I put you away in the spare tank to keep for a while until I had all your parts prepared, and then I get you out to find  _this!_  A pregnancy! Who is the father?"

She stares at Gero, utterly helpless and entirely confused. "Let me go," she whispers. " _Let me go!_ " She strains to lift herself off the table, but the straps around her hold her down.

The doctor slaps her hard across the face and her head falls back, hitting the table with a crack. "Shut up!" he yells, spittle flying from his mouth. She whimpers, shivering, and her eyes focus on what look like coffins lined up along the far wall. There are people trapped inside each pod – she can see their faces through the little windows – and she screams again.

"Be quiet girl or I'll cut this child from you right now!"

She stares at the doctor, still unable to fathom where or how or why she is here. " _Who. Is. The. Father?_ " the doctor repeats, enunciating each word as if she's a dumb animal. She stares at him, wide eyed, until she finds her voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Now let me go!"

He slaps her again, harder this time. Her cheek burns and she tastes iron, choking as tears well in her eyes. "You are pregnant, girl! It's as clear as day! Can you not see it?! Can you not feel it?!"

She can't feel anything. She's numb, and cold, and scared. She's never been so afraid in her life. She averts her gaze as tears roll down the side of her face, pooling in her ears.  _Help me_ , she prays to Kami, though she knows it's no use.

"Pathetic," the doctor snarls. "I'll have to do a scan. Nineteen! Bring the ultrasound equipment!" She hears shuffling behind her and turns her head, but the doctor yanks at her hair and pulls a mask over her face before she can shake him off. "It could have a tail. If it's Vegeta's I may be able to do something with it," he mumbles as she moans.

She hears shuffling feet and laughter behind her, high pitched and eerie, but the world is fading away fast.

Her eyes close, and do not open again.


	7. Interlude: The Womb

**A THOUSAND SLEEPS**

**_Interlude: The Womb_ **

She knows nothing… and yet, she knows _everything._ She isn’t alone; she never was, this entire time. As she slips in and out, every conscious thought growing sparser, her heart knows what her head has failed to recognise all along. She has a son, and he will rise above all of this.

She holds onto that thought like a lifeline, even as pain shoots through her body, until it feels as if her bones are breaking. The tether between her and her child breaks too, and her heart aches with the loss of it.

She floats to the surface for an instant in a watery fever-dream. Her son’s mewling cry sounds from outside her cage, and her heart soars, even as her muscles numb once more, until she can’t feel, until she is pulled back under, down into the watery grave.

The child’s scream pierces her once more, and her final conscious thought is that she too is trapped in the womb.


	8. Part Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Dragonball Z.
> 
> A/N: I thought I would share that the EP by Broods has been a source of inspiration for this story, and the song ‘Never Gonna Change’ had a particular influence on this chapter.

 

**A THOUSAND SLEEPS**

**Part Seven**

**_125_ **

He is a man of instinct, and as he stalks quietly through the Capsule Corp. compound, he feels the skin on his neck prickle. The house is uncharacteristically quiet, and the lines between Vegeta’s brows deepen as he finds the compound entirely devoid of life, despite the late hour. A lone cleaning bot whirs slowly past him as he travels down the hall towards the living quarters, and on impulse he turns to address it.

“Robot. Where are your masters?”

The machine stops mopping the floor and turns to face him, its digital eyes blinking up at him for a moment. “They are on a vacation, Mr. Vegeta,” it replies. “Dr. and Mrs. Briefs ordered me to give you and Ms. Bulma their regards if you two should return from your trip into space.”

His mouth turns down. “Bulma didn’t travel with me. Do you think I’d take that infuriating woman on a training mission?”

The bot blinks back up at him, somehow managing to look confused, despite being a simple machine. “Dr. and Mrs. Briefs ordered me to give you and Ms. Bulma their regards if you two should return you’re your trip into space,” it repeats in its irritatingly mechanical voice.

Vegeta rolls his eyes and kicks the bot, sending it flying into the wall, where is bends and breaks and sends a cloud of plaster billowing into the air. He’s done the Briefs a favour, for the machine was clearly defective. Turning on his heels, he wonders why he even bothered to ask for their whereabouts in the first place.

After all, he doesn’t give a shit about any of them.

**_119_ **

Bulma’s mother clings to his arm, and he remembers why he usually does his best to avoid the humans. They’re irritating at best, and when they’re at their worst he finds it extremely difficult not to slaughter them.

“Vegeta dear, you should have seen the fireworks on New Year’s Eve! They were so beautiful! Oh, it’s such a shame that you and Bulma couldn’t make it back in time! But I’m sure you had a wonderful time in space! How romantic, wandering the stars together!”

He stares at the foolish woman. He must have an odd look on his face, because for once, the hag stops grinning like a fool.

“Vegeta?” she asks, her shrill voice filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Your daughter did not travel with me. I haven’t seen her since I left Earth last year.”

For a moment, Mrs. Briefs looks shocked. Tears begin to well in her eyes. “Oh Vegeta!” she cries. “You must be heartbroken! How could Bulma reject such a handsome man such as yourself!”

Her stupidity is too much to bear. He shakes her off him, and she falls back against the table with a shriek. He turns, heading towards Bulma’s bedroom, ignoring the voice in his head telling him that he shouldn’t waste his time here.

What is more bothersome is the concern that churns through his gut. His skin prickles as he steps into her bedroom and finds that her scent has turned stale, as it is elsewhere in the house. The woman has not been here for a long time.

He feels oddly numb as he tries to locate her ki in the surrounding city. He finds nothing, and stretches his sense farther and farther again, until his head is pounding from the effort to search for her.

He stands in her empty bedroom, and recognises this feeling of dread. This is déjà vu. He is five years old again, staring down at the darkness of empty space, watching the cloud of rocks and dust that is all that remains of Vegetasei and his people.

.

He watches as the old man scratches at his moustache and logs into one of the lab computers. “I did think it was strange that we hadn’t heard from you two,” the old fool mutters.

Vegeta steps closer, so that he can peer at the screen over the old fools’ shoulder. “You don’t seem overly concerned that your daughter is missing,” he remarks, keeping his voice neutral.

“Oh no. Bulma used to run off all the time – she’s been all around the world on her own, that girl. And into space. Same as her sister, you know. ‘ _Independent women_ ’ and all that jazz. Now let’s see… I should be able to locate her vehicles… hmmm…”

Rows upon rows of symbols scroll across the computer screen as the old man clicks and types away. Vegeta sneers, reminded once more of the fact that for the most part he cannot read the foreign Earthling writing system that adorns everything on this godforsaken planet. He has learnt the Earthling’s number system, however, and it is this knowledge that he uses now as the old man points out a series of coordinates on the screen with a fat finger that is yellowed and blackened from tobacco and engine grease.

“There, son,” the old man says, tapping at the screen before bringing up a map. “Her plane is parked in the Northern Alps.” The old man shakes his head and takes another drag from his cigarette. “That’s a funny place for Bulma to take a vacation – she doesn’t usually like the cold. Wouldn’t you agree, Kitty?”

“ _Meow!_ ”

Vegeta turns away without another word, refusing to spend another moment in the presence of such utter stupidity.

.

He doesn’t know why he’s here, searching for her. He floats high above the mountain range, scanning for any sign of _her_ aircraft. He keeps his ki low – its second nature to do so when hunting.

If her parents have not seen her for over a year, it is very likely that the woman is dead. The thought stings – an almost physical pain – and he pushes it away. He doesn’t know why he cares. He tells himself he’s searching for her simply because he needs to know the truth. He’s on a hunt now – if foul play is involved he’ll enjoy the slow death of any culprits. After all, it’s been far too long since he killed anything sentient.

He swoops lower, down over the forests below the mountains. A flash of white catches his eye for an instant, and he backtracks, descending once more as he scans between the firs and pines.

He remains on guard as he drops beside the plane, but it’s immediately obvious that no one has been here for a long time. The aircraft itself is dirty, covered in animal shit and pine needles, and the claw marks of some large creature scar the side of the aircraft. These are already beginning to rust, and Vegeta feels the knot in his gut twist tighter. The woman is surely dead.

He knows that there is no point searching for a trail now, though he still bothers to look, turning around in a circle. A winter has passed since she landed here – of that he is certain – and snowfall will have destroyed any trace of footprints. He smells nothing of her in the icy air.

He tears open the door to the plane’s cab, ripping the entire thing off its hinges. Her stale scent – the same as in her bedroom – wafts out and away with the breeze. He peers inside and spots the dragonball radar immediately, discarded on the passenger seat.

“You fucking fool!” he swears at the radar, at her ghost. He’s had to suffer through enough of her childhood stories to know how dangerous a dragonball search can be for weakling _humans_. Why the fuck would the idiot come out here by herself? To search for fucking dragonballs?!

As he steps back from the plane something nudges at his senses, and his head whips around to face the mountain directly ahead. His scowl deepens as he searches and finds the strong ki that fluctuates in distress. He stands frozen, confused. It’s _almost_ hers, but it isn’t – not quite – and as it fluctuates again it is far stronger than Bulma’s could ever be. He focuses his senses and finds that there is one other ki, weak and pathetic compared to the other. They are both close, and close to each other.

He takes to the air, flying towards them, all the while suppressing his ki as much as he can. He stops as he reaches the sheer cliff face of the mountain that towers before him, his scowl deepening. He rises, focused on the fluctuating ki, until he hovers above the mountain top, eyes scanning over the jagged rocks below.

It makes no sense. The ki he senses is somehow _inside_ the mountain. He flies around it slowly, pausing when catches the glint of sunlight reflecting off something below. Descending quickly, he finds himself standing at the base of the mountain, looking at a heavy-duty metal door with a shitty paint job that has been fitted into the cliff face. On the ground beside it is a discarded screwdriver, the letter ‘B’ – the only one the woman ever taught him – scrawled in black on the bright blue handle.

He snorts, stepping forward and planting his fist through the metal door. He tugs at the door and it comes away easily, the hinges bending and tearing with a groan. Pausing, he steps inside the open doorway, peering up at the darkness before him. As his eyes adjust he makes out a stairwell, leading up into the pitch black above.

His surroundings are clear. Only the two ki, hidden somewhere within this place, spark against his mind, and although the strongest of these is high by human standards, it is still impossibly weak. He steps inside.

.

He keeps his ki as low as possible as he floats up the spiralling stairwell. Though there is no natural light in this tunnel, his eyes adjust to the point that he can make out each individual stair, and the curved roof just above him. By nature Saiyans dislike cramped areas, and he is no exception. The sooner he can get out of this hole in the ground, the better.

He pauses as a distant noise reaches his ears, his mind all the while focused on the two ki he can sense. He’s grown steadily closer to them both, and can now make out that they are on two different levels within this place. As he creeps forward once more the sound increases until he can recognize it for what it is – the wailing of a small child. The noise grows louder still, echoing off the curved walls, an irritating, ear-piercing sound. Light begins to seep into the tunnel and he knows he’s nearing the end, growing closer and closer to the wailing child and the distressed ki that is so eerily similar to Bulma’s.

Questions race through his mind as he rounds a final corner and finds himself hovering above the final stair. He faces a short corridor that ends in room bathed in artificial light. He inches closer and peers through the open doorway.

The scene before him is at once familiar; a laboratory that holds the same sights and smells as the one in the Briefs’ house. The room is empty, though he can hear the child’s screams through the steel walls. He steps inside, eyes scanning his surroundings, until they land on something that freezes him to the core.

He steps forward as if under a spell, past shelves stocked full of old equipment, until he is standing in front of a huge glass tank, a massive cylinder supported by a steel base that reminds him of the gravity controls. He ignores all of this, his focus only on the naked form of the woman before him.

She floats suspended in a green fluid, her long hair fanned out around her head, blue locks wavering slowly through the rippling liquid. Wires and tubes run from the base of the tank to the insides of her wrists, her elbows, her knees. Her eyes are closed, and an oxygen mask covers the lower half of her face. He watches her silently, eyes focused on her naked chest, and swears that he sees this rising and falling as air fills her lungs.

It makes no sense. She has no ki. She is dead.

It is a morbidly beautiful sight. She is an angel amongst the monstrosity of tubes and wires, her skin still a palette of pink and cream, her body still perfect despite whatever acts have been forced upon her. He takes in the shape of the tank, so similar to the regeneration tanks he knew in his previous life, and his eyes fall upon a label attached to the front of the glass.

He cannot read the word that adorns this, but he recognizes the number after it. _21._ Twenty-one. He contemplates this, and reaches out a hand, his gloved fingers barely grazing the glass.

A siren rings out, and too late he realizes his mistake. He turns to find that a door to the next chamber of the laboratory has been opened, and he rushes forward through the threshold, his ki rising dramatically. He spots an old man in a lab coat running for another exit and fires at the ceiling above it, smirking as debris rains down on the man, blocking the doorway and trapping the old fool inside the room. The idiot turns, the expression on his face a mixture of anger and fear as he faces Vegeta. “Nineteen!” the old man calls. “Android Nineteen!”

  1. Vegeta freezes, his breath hitching as all the clues fall into place. Bulma’s voice rings in his mind, as distinct as the day she uttered the words that sealed her fate. _“I know a way we can save the Earth and not fight… use the dragonballs to summon the dragon; he’ll tell us where the doctor is, we take out the doctor and all of our problems are solved!”_



“Fool,” he snarls at Bulma’s ghost, staring at the doctor before him. He steps forward, intent on torturing the old man, but in that moment he is slammed from the left, his side suddenly on fire as the room spins around him. He recovers quickly, flipping back onto his feet, and finds himself staring at a grotesque parody of a human, an obese thing with skin far too pale to be living. It laughs, a high pitched screech, and he does not need the doctor’s commentary to tell him that this is one of the Androids.

“Nineteen! Yes! My Android will kill you Vegeta!” the old fool cries. “You should have never come here!”

“Shut up!” Vegeta snarls back, shooting a small ki blast at the old man. The Android moves quickly to defend his master, but does something unexpected, its outstretched hand appearing to _absorb_ the blast, rather than deflect it. Vegeta takes a step back, eyeing the Android’s palm wearily.

“Did you enjoy that ki blast, you tin freak?” he addresses the Android, and receives another high pitched giggle in reply, confirmation that it has ki absorption capabilities. He’s seen similar technology in devices before, but nothing on Earth, and he snarls at the idea of it. “I bet you’re just _dying_ to get your hands on me so you can drain my energy, aren’t you, you fat freak?!” he goads, hoping to lead the Android into giving away its capabilities.

“I will! I will take _all_ your energy!” it cries, and Vegeta can’t help but throw his head back and laugh.

“You fool,” he chuckles. “You will be nothing more than scrap metal when I’m done with you.” His gaze shifts to the old doctor, cowering in the corner. “Prepare yourself, fool. You’re about to behold the true Super Saiyan.”

His grin becomes a snarl as the ki floods his veins, burning in a maddening mix of pain and euphoria. The pressure builds inside his head, his chest, his muscles tensing and he throws his head back and screams, becoming legendary.

.

Vegeta hovers in the cold air above the mountains, having blasted a hole through the ceiling of the lab with the Android in his grasp. He watches as the machine crawls out from the cliff face it was buried in, noting that it looks much worse for wear than before. _Good._

He chuckles – a deep, rasping sound that borders on madness – and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. His glove is stained red with blood, but he doesn’t care. This tin can of a robot has put up a good fight, but he is better. The machine _has_ grabbed at him once, and managed to drain his energy for a few seconds, but he has plenty to spare, and he isn’t tired yet.

This stupid machine, however, appears terrified, and he takes the time to taunt the thing. “Tell me,” he yells, “does a machine such as yourself experience fear?”

The Android frowns, jowls shaking. “I will destroy you, Vegeta!” it yells, flying towards him. “Androids will rule the Earth. My brothers and sisters will soon be released!”

Vegeta snarls, because he realises all too late that he has left the fool of a doctor alone in the laboratory for too long. He dodges the Android’s attack swiftly, shifting behind it and making a grab for its arms. It squeals, caught in his death grip, its ki drainers rendered useless as he plants a boot firmly in the Android’s back and tears its hands free at the wrists with a decisive tug. The Android screams, its blunt arms now sparking madly, and though it whirls to face him like a true warrior he has his answer; Androids _do_ experience fear.

He fires a Galick Gun straight at the robot, and takes satisfaction in the way it implodes, its useless head falling back down to the Earth.

.

He drops back into the lab to find that his fears over more Androids are unfounded, for the old doctor has been trapped in the room with Bulma’s corpse, debris from the fight blocking all exits. He doesn’t doubt the existence of Nineteen’s siblings, but for now they remain out of sight, and are of no concern.

What is of concern is the doctor himself, who laughs maniacally as he leans back against the tank containing Bulma’s body. “You are too late, Vegeta! You are too late to save her now!” he screams, his blue eyes bright with madness. “The poison is already entering her bloodstream, all her parts will short circuit and soon she will be _dead_ ,” he spits, Gero’s lips pulling back in an ugly snarl.

Vegeta pauses for an instant, his eyes focusing on the Bulma’s body, encased in wires and glass, a ki-less corpse that somehow looks so alive. And then he sees it; the infinitesimal shift in her body as her chest rises, taking in a breath.

It is impossible. _And yet…_

His body moves faster than he can contemplate, and he is flying across the room. The madman is brushed aside, and the glass around Bulma shatters, glass and liquid spilling everywhere. He lays her out on the floor, tearing at the tubes and wires, severing every connection between her and the broken tank.

He shouldn’t care – he’s _never_ given a shit about anyone – but as he stares down at her naked body, pale and unmoving, he feels a fear far greater than he has ever known before. His touch is gentle as he cradles her head, pulling off the mask that covers her mouth and nose, and the seconds that tick by are agonising. He is no longer a Super Saiyan, his mind far too distracted to maintain such a form.

Her body is slack in his arms, like so many of the dead that he has encountered before, and no breath flows from her mouth.

“She is _dead._ ”

He pays no attention to the old fool behind him as he presses his mouth to hers, breathing out, and for the first time in years he prays to his old gods that he, who has taken so much life, can give this woman just enough to live.

He tries again, her lungs inflating under his hand. He has never tried to save anyone before… _Gods… please…_

There is a shift, a tightening of the slack flesh under his hands, and he opens his eyes to see her blue gaze swimming before him.

With all his defenses down, he doesn’t see the hit coming, and the blow to his chest is agonizingly painful. He flies through the air, his body slamming through the steel wall of the lab, the force of the hit embedding him in layers of rock. His chest is on fire, his sternum cracked, ribs broken. He lies there for a moment, unable to comprehend what has just happened. The room outside is silent, the sound of crumbling stone around him the only noise he can hear.

He raises his ki as he climbs out of the hole _she_ has thrown him into, his body tense and on guard as he steps out. She kneels facing him, her blue eyes cold and emotionless, her arm outstretched, fist clenched, her body held motionless in that same follow through that sent him flying through the air. Her long blue hair hangs limp and bedraggled around her naked shoulders, and she looks utterly wild.

“Bulma.” It hurts to speak, and he knows he’s bleeding internally. She has _no_ ki; he cannot tell how strong she is now, this strange, alien Bulma, and he knows that if it comes to a fight, he will not have much time until his injuries become too much.

She stares at him, no hint of recognition in her eyes, and he knows that this woman is nothing like the one he has known. He can find no trace of her in those cold eyes, and there is nothing gentle in her harsh expression.

There is a sound behind her, the cocking of a gun, and she turns, her movements far too fluid for any human. He watches as the doctor – a crumpled, broken old man who sits defeated and bleeding on the floor – raises his weapon with shaking arms, pointing it straight at her head, and fires.

The laser beam does not waver, but her hands move faster than this light, deflecting the blast with a simple flick of the wrist. She stares down at the doctor, her face showing emotion for the first time.

“ _Doctor Gero_.”

Her voice is far smoother than before, and laced with utter fury. Vegeta watches in awe as she stands and takes a single stride, snatching the gun from Gero’s grasp. She aims this at the old man, her every move as fluid as running water.

She pulls the trigger.

The blast shoots through Gero’s head, and blood and gore splatters everywhere. Gero’s corpse slides to the ground in a messy puddle.

Vegeta stares at the woman – the _Android_ – before him, and is utterly mesmerized. She towers over the doctor’s dead body, her naked flesh painted red with blood.

She turns her blue gaze, and her gun, on him.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I've assumed that Bulma would have been able to deduce the meaning of Standard numerals from Raditz' scouter. In those first few DBZ episodes she somehow manages to translate everything the scouter says into a language she understands, and I would say that she would have put this all on file somewhere.


End file.
